Rustic Reverie
by Stew Pid
Summary: Some of the Gilmore Girls characters reflect on wood. No, this isn’t some New Age, return-to-animism type thing. It’s actually more normal than it sounds, or as normal as I’m capable of. Rating's just to be safe.
1. Luke- On Chance and Responsibility

By Stew Pid

Rating: Should be okay

Disclaimer: I only own the Stew Pid stuff

A/N: Some of the Gilmore Girls characters reflect on wood. No, this isn't some New Age, return-to-animism type thing. It's actually more normal than it sounds, or as normal as I'm capable of. I dedicate this story in loving memory to my beloved Chamomile.

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Luke is cleaning out his closet.

Damn it! How did all this junk steadily accumulate in here? Jess. There's an answer. What can you do? When you have to start throwing out _your _old junk to make more room for the other person's junk, you know the arrangement is permanent. Ah. Here are the notorious baseballs. Better return them tomorrow.

__

He pulls out the baseballs and a bunch of things fall over, something hitting him on the head.

Geez. What the heck was that? Oh. This. Fifty-two fifty I paid for this. What on earth was I thinking? Well, she was in a jam. But my God, fifty-two fifty? For two Pop-tarts and a Slim Jim? Not to mention the added costs for the lunch we actually ate. I'm too good…Not good enough, though. I mean, who am I kidding? I'd 'ave paid a hundred if I had to. And anyway, _other people_ paid more. I suppose I lucked out that day. It was the closest thing to a date I'll ever get with her. No, I suppose fifty-two fifty wasn't bad at all… 

I hope those Pop-tarts and the Slim Jim aren't still in here. No. It's empty. Guess it was all empty, wasn't it? I mean, in hard fact, it was just another incident of good ol' pal Luke coming to the rescue, and two friends having lunch afterwards. Nothing special. Not to her. She's waiting for "someday." Well, my "someday" was that day. But how's she supposed to know that anyway? I haven't told her, and while that usually doesn't stop news from spreading in this town, they probably wouldn't know to tell her either. Anyway, I've already consigned myself to being alone. We wouldn't work anyway. We're both too stubborn and too stuck in our ways, and she deserves better. I don't need the headache, and the heartache. I'm fine being alone. I prefer it. But then, I'm not alone. I wouldn't be cleaning this closet if I were alone. I wouldn't be returning these baseballs if I were alone. I put the milk in one spot of the fridge and I find it in another. I have to wait every morning to take a shower. Funny thing is, it hasn't bothered me as much as I thought it would. Maybe I've evolved a little from the lone-wolf. So what? That still doesn't mean it'd work. And I haven't evolved. I'm still the same Luke. I do what I have to when lending a hand. I took Jess in. I bought the stupid basket. But in the end, it'll all winds up the same. Empty, alone again. That's my life, and I'm fine with it.

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He tosses the wicker basket into the garbage.

A/N: I didn't mention before that this is my first POV and I am quite frightened. It's hard to step into another person's mind. Crazy as my mind is, I'm rather used to it. And Luke has to be the hardest…who am I kidding, they're all hard. Well, I'm trying out new things. It was going to come to this eventually.


	2. Lorelai- On Companionship

By Stew Pid

Rating: Should be okay

Disclaimer: I only own the Stew Pid stuff

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Lorelai brings some cleaning materials to the chuppah.

Huh. How's Gilbert doing today? Aw. You look sad. Haven't been the same since your head came off, have you? Yeah, I guess that's the sort of thing you never really recover from. Well, I have to clean you, but I promise I won't knock off your head.

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She starts to dust the wood with a rag.

Hmm. This is just so beautiful. It looks even more beautiful now that it's older, has seen a lot, survived its first injury, saw its first marriage. First. Huh. Well, I'm glad someone got to use you already. Don't get me wrong, Gilbert, you're the best house decoration I have, but you were meant for bigger things. At least one of us was, anyway.

What am I saying? I sound like one of those old Victorian women—hey, I don't even have to go that far back, my mother's DAR friends, sitting at tea time discussing the most eligible young bachelors. Yes, because marriage is the biggest thing that could possibly happen for a little ol' woman. Yeah right. My biggest thing already happened. I had Rory. I'll always have Rory. And I have a home and friends that I love. That's not a small thing. So what I'm over thirty and never married? Marriage is overrated. I mean, the Sookies and Jacksons of the world can get married and live happily ever after, but those are the few. 

Look how you're looking at me. You're not buying it, are you? Yeah. Didn't believe it much myself. I don't know what I believe. I know I didn't want to wake up every morning of my life to Max, but that doesn't mean I want to wake up every morning of my life to just Lorelai. Luke can deal with that, but you remember what happened when Rory went to Washington. I'm still coming off that Windex high. I don't know what it is about being alone that makes me want to clean. So I guess you know I'm lonely right now, otherwise I wouldn't be threatening you with this Pledge. I don't know, Gilbert. Let's just say I'd like to use you myself someday. Someday.

Is it realistic, though? I mean, let's look at my track record here now. Max and I just didn't click. Chris and I…we clicked, but the timing was always all off. By the time he was ready to grow up, I wasn't the one around. It was Sherry. Then things weren't going well with Sherry and…well, I told you the story. Maybe Luke's right. I mean, the chances of two people evolving at the same rate so as to maintain the chemistry, connection, relationship between them are very slim…

Wait. Don't tell me I'm listening to Luke's theory on marriage. Luke would put DeBeers out of business. You know, I sometimes wonder if he believes it himself. I mean, why would he spend so much time and energy making a chuppah like this if he did? Well, he bends I guess. Like how he gives me coffee and super-chocolate-y brownies even though it goes against his nutritional beliefs. He puts up with my crap and he doesn't try to change me. That's why we work.

****

God, what have I been talking about? I guess I just wigged on you, Gilbert babe. But really, I have Rory, and Sookie and Jackson, and Luke, and Stars Hollow. That's enough. If one day I meet someone I might want to stand under you with, well that will be someday. But for now, this is my life, and you know, I wouldn't have it any other way. 


	3. Jess- On Choice and Culpability

By Stew Pid

Rating: Should be okay

Disclaimer: I only own the Stew Pid stuff

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Jess walks aimlessly, winding up at the bridge.

How did I end up here? Must not have been paying attention. Strange how I always wander here though. It's like the North of some internal compass. What the heck am I talking about? Anyway, here's as good a place as any. 

__

He sits on the bridge and pulls out a book.

I like this place. I can't explain it. I guess these are my baptismal waters. There I go again. What the heck is wrong with me? I don't want to think. Just read, Jess. But it's impossible to sit here and not think…Damn, man. How did I even get here?

That's a deeper question, isn't it? How _did _I get here? Not by choice, that's for sure. Even when I chose to come back, it wasn't really a choice. I guess it was that internal compass again. The stupid thing must be broken. Forget it, man. Just read.

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He picks up the books again and begins reading:

"In the dead white hours in Zurich staring into a stranger's pantry across the upshine of a street-lamp, he used to think that he wanted to be good, wanted to be kind, wanted to be brave and wise, but it was all pretty difficult. He wanted to be loved, too…"

Damn. What are you doing to me, Scott? Well, Jess, I guess you're not going to get away from it this time, so just admit it. It's her. I didn't choose to fall for her. At first, I thought I was the one in control. I played around a lot. Word games, head games, all that. She didn't know what to think. I remember how she stuttered around whether I cared about her. That was when I was still able to pretend I was in control. I got caught in my own trap with that one. Why I came over with that food and lied, I'll never know. I just wanted to spend time with her again. But then she figured out that I did care, at least about whether or not she ate, which was enough. She figured out the stupid basket bid thing. We were here, the closest thing to a date I'll ever get with her. But she figured it out. She always caught my games. Why didn't I realize it? She never fell for them, just like she never fell for my magic tricks. But I fell. Stupid thing to do. Now I was the one stuttering around whether or not I cared about her and whether she cared about me. The accident. The worst thing to come out of my stupidity. I came here after that and it was here where I had to sit with the unquestionable that I did care about her. And I hurt her. Leaving here. That should have been the end of it. The insanity was over. I was back home, in a world where I belonged. I was free to forget and move on and return to my old ways. Why did I call her? If I hadn't called her she never would have come. I realize that's why she came. I forced her to remember me when I called her. I shouldn't have. We both should have forgotten. But then she came back and I thought that was proof that she did care. She plays games too, you know, even if she herself doesn't realize it. But I fell for hers. I came back. And she played some more games and she kissed me, and I fell even more. But then she ran. Ran all the way to Washington and then ran back to her boyfriend. She suckered me. I never had a choice in any of it. She played some magic of her own, and I fell. She rigged the compass and now I'm here, a jackass on a bridge_._

Who am I kidding, though? I had a choice. I chose to fall. I chose to stay here even after she ran because I still like to watch her and talk to her and pour her coffee in the morning. I chose to be stupid. I chose to be the jackass on the bridge. Anyway, that's life.

A/N: The quote Jess reads is from F. Scott Fitzgerald's _Tender Is the Night._


	4. Rory- On Life and Love

By Stew Pid

Rating: Should be okay

Disclaimer: I only own the Stew Pid stuff

Rory leans against a tree with a book in her hands. It appears as though she's reading, but she doesn't have the concentration.

I guess I don't have that unbelievable concentration anymore. That's what he first noticed about me, and today, I don't have it. This tree. Ethel. Where he watched me reading, where we would often kiss after school. If we were really corny we would have etched something like "Rory & Dean, always" in the bark. But now the bark is chipping off and while I try to read Fitzgerald, the leaves are falling all about me and I notice every single one that falls. It reminds me of that Simon and Garfunkel song, "Time hurries on and the leaves that are green turn to brown, and they wither in the wind, and they crumble in your hand." 

He's my first love. First. Huh. Interesting use of words. I don't know what happened. Things used to be so great between us. I mean, he's wonderful. There's no reason for me not to love him. But it just feels like everything we once had is gone. I don't feel comfortable with him anymore. It feels like I'm trying too hard. Every time I say I love him, I feel as though I'm trying to convince myself. And I get the feeling he's trying hard too. It doesn't feel natural. This must have been how mom felt about Max. There's no reason why we shouldn't love them, but we just don't. You understand me, don't you, Ethel? I mean, I want to love him. I used to love him. But love, if it is love, should last, shouldn't it? Well, I guess there are different types of love, but I thought I had the lasting one with Dean. So why do I feel I don't have it anymore? Maybe I don't really know what love is. 

I imagine love, the lasting love, must be when you find one person who really knows you, who accepts who you are without trying to change you, who understands you even when he or she doesn't understand or agree. Yet the person has to know you well enough to challenge you, to bring you to self-discovery, self awareness, to make you a better you, which doesn't necessarily mean a better person, though it ultimately means just that. The person has to be brave enough to take off your masks, to see you as you are, and still love you. And when you find a person who does that and to whom you can do all those things, then I imagine you have love, lasting love. Do I have that with Dean? I don't know. 

The problem is that I couldn't tell him how I'm feeling. I don't want to hurt him. So we both play along and we pretend everything is fine, and maybe I wouldn't mind it so much if it weren't for _him. _Seems either way I was going to hurt one of them. Either way I was going to hurt. But _him._ Everybody was right about him. He was trouble. He messed everything up. My world was small and quiet and peaceful and he came and turned everything upside down. He changed everything. Or maybe he just surfaced hidden realities. But whatever he did, he did something to me. Talking to him, I think deeper thoughts. Being with him, I feel deeper emotions. But I can't talk to him as much, and I can't be with him. He knows that. Why does he stay? Maybe if he would leave, everything would return back to normal. Maybe things would work again with me and Dean. There would be no complications, no arguments, no hurting. 

But who am I kidding? I'm glad he came. I don't want him to go. It wouldn't change anything anyway. He surfaced things that you just can't push back down the barrel. I treasure his friendship, and that's enough. Yes, wrong turns, irrevocable actions were made. Things are different and more complicated now, but that's life. I'd even venture to say that's the good stuff. And I wouldn't have it any other way. Thanks, Ethel. You're a good listener. You should meet Gilbert. I think you'd get along really well.


	5. Lumber back

By Stew Pid

Rating: Should be okay

Disclaimer: I only own the Stew Pid stuff

Lorelai goes back into the house and is putting the cleansers back under the sink. There's a knock on the door. She answers.

__

"Hey."

"Hey."

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh. Uh, I was cleaning out the closet today…"

"Look at that, I was cleaning too."

"Rory's not here?"

"No."

"Ah. Yeah, so I was cleaning the closet and I found the basket I paid way too much money for, but I figured one of us should at least save some money on this, so I thought I'd bring it back. Next year comes around, you already have your basket."

"Cool. Do I already have the Pop-Tarts and the Slim Jim?"

"You're disgusting."

"You're more disgusting if you ate it."

"I didn't, but I can't speak for the raccoons."

"Ah. The little runts. So I have all this Chinese food and no one to join me."

"I don't eat anything you eat."

"Oh, I can eat it all myself, but I need a witness for when I tell Rory that I broke the record for the most Chinese food consumed."

"Why would you want to break a record you set?"

"Don't you believe in ambition?"

"Towards a worthy cause, occasionally."

"So are you coming in or what?"

"Well, you need a witness."

"Good. Come on in."

They talk and joke while Lorelai ingests cartons full of food. 

"I feel bad."

"I told you when there were still more dumplings that you were going to get sick if you ate anymore."

"No. I don't feel sick. I feel bad that I'm eating all this delicious food and you're just sitting there. I can run water over the broccoli from the chicken in garlic sauce if you want."

"No. I'm fine. Watching you eat, I've quite frankly lost my appetite."

"Well, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I had a little something before I left."

"Good. Now I can eat the egg foo young with a clear conscience."

"So I guess your conscience isn't disturbed by slow suicide."

"Guess not. So what brought on your cleaning spree?"

"Well, between my stuff and Jess' stuff we were losing breathing room, and Jess wasn't budging so I had to give."

"Ah. Well, I decided I'd clean the chuppah you made. I figured if it got really dirty it might be a bad sign for Sookie and Jackson."

"You know, if you want to give it to them, you can. Don't keep it on my account."

"I'm keeping it on my account."

"I guess you caught the bouquet at the wedding."

"No. Miss Patty did. God help us all. But it makes my house look pretty, and Gilbert and I have become really good friends."

"I see. Well good. I better get going. It's Jess' day off and Caesar's alone."

"Just watch me eat the last of this egg roll and I've officially broken my record."

He watches and nods when she takes the last bite.

"Okay, so I'll see you around."

They walk out. Luke looks at the chuppah, clean and bright. 

"You did a good job."

"Thanks. And thanks for the basket."

Luke nods and proceeds down the front steps, hesitating at the bottom.

"You know, we should do this again."

"I don't know. I think it'll be a while before I clean again."

"No, I mean dinner."

"Oh."

"I just think you sometimes need sane supervision."

"Huh."

"Not that I'd be able to stop you. What am I saying? You know, forget it."

"Luke. I'd be glad to. This was nice."

"This was nice."

They smile and Luke leaves. Lorelai walks back into the house and looks at the returned basket.

Hello, someday.


	6. Timber!

By Stew Pid

Rating: Should be okay

Disclaimer: I only own the Stew Pid stuff

Rory and Dean kiss their good-byes in front of the house. After Dean leaves, Rory spends some time looking at the front door, pondering whether or not to go in.

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"Waiting for telekinesis to kick in?"

She smiles at the familiar voice.

"Hey. What are you doing around here?"

"Luke cleaned out the closet. I've been returning things to people."

"What is it with you? Kleptomania?"

"Just passing time."

"Try bowling."

"Stars Hollow doesn't have a bowling alley."

"Open one."

"And become part of Stars Hollow's business community? Have to answer to Taylor? No thank you."

"What's so fun about taking gnomes anyway?"

"I don't know. Hey, it's not like I do it anymore. It was old stuff I was returning."

"Well good."

"If you say so. So how was your date?"

"Hmm?"

"How was your day?"

"Oh. Good. Yours?"

"All right."

Jess stares at Rory who shifts nervously under his gaze.

"Well, I better get going. I'll see you around."

"Wait. Um, you want to go for a walk?"

"Well, I was going to have to walk anyway."

"Okay. Good."

The two walk, unthinkingly, discussing the thematic relationship between the writings of Dubus, O'Connor, and Faulkner. 

"They just rip the floor right from under you."

"The myth of the floor," Rory adds.

"Well of course."

"Yeah, they're great."

"No argument."

"I'm just surprised you included Faulkner in all that."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, but out of loyalty to Hemingway, shouldn't you have less appreciation for Faulkner?"

"I guess loyalty is one virtue I haven't developed yet. I think those two just loved to hate each other."

"I guess so."

They meander their way to the bridge once again.

"How did we end up all the way here?" Rory asked.

Jess remains silent.

"So did you ever make it through the Fountainhead?"

"Yeah. Hated every minute of it."

"Well, I did promise to make it up to you."

"That you did."

"So what do you want?" 

She immediately wishes to bite back the question as soon as it comes from her mouth. Jess notices this.

"Don't worry about it. It actually wasn't that bad, but I still think Rand is a political nut."

"But a good writer too?"

"Whatever."

Rory smiles. He wasn't holding her to anything, and she appreciates that. She knows he understands. She looks at him, her eyes promising him, "someday." He looks at his watch.

"You better get back home. It's almost past curfew. Taylor will send out the hounds."

She nods despondently, then her eyes light up with resolve. She leans in slowly and kisses him on the cheek.

"Goodnight, Dodger," and with that she turns and walks away.

Jess stands in the middle of the bridge, the side of his face still tingling from the invisible imprint.

That's enough…for now.

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	7. Chamomile

A/N:

I realized I didn't mark my story with "The End." But it is the end. Oh, I know, it's one of those suspended endings that one of you told me about, and I promised I would write something that would end neatly, and I haven't really delivered on my promise. I'm sorry. My seventh and last story (oh, I'll probably return next summer, but you know what I mean) may have a neat ending. I promise nothing though, because I hate to make promises I don't keep and while I can live with myself doing it once, I couldn't do it twice. 

But since I'm here, I'll tell you all about Chamomile and why I dedicated this story to her. Read on only if you're prepared for insanity. Any story about Chamomile would have to begin with my love for frogs. I really do love frogs, though I've only seen two real ones in my life and only one of the two was alive. Because of this immense love of frogs, I got Chamomile, a rubber frog. Chamomile was a great frog even though she wasn't slimy because she was just rubber. Being made of rubber had its charms. It made her very low maintenance, and it meant she would live forever. Or so I thought. My other great love is for plants but I have no green thumb and I kill them all, except for one. My newest plant had died three weeks ago and my one surviving plant, Bysshe, was all alone. I put Chamomile on the windowsill with him one day to keep him company. It had been a cloudy, rainy two days, so it wasn't that bad. The next day, however, was sunny and hot, and somehow or another Chamomile melted. I tried to rescue her but her little frog legs were melded into the windowsill and when I picked her up, her body came apart from her legs. She was finished. Try explaining to normal people your sorrow over the death of a rubber frog. It won't work. Like Narcissus the carpenter, I wanted to make a replica of my lost love. Now, I sculpt, but I break many of my sculptures. I wanted something that would last. Looking out of the window where the tragedy happened, I saw the trees lined up on the sidewalk. I thought of wood. I would teach myself woodcarving and carve a wooden Chamomile (it didn't seem so far-fetched because I taught myself to sculpt.) The difference between woodcarving and sculpting is that woodcarving involved knives. No, I didn't achieve the wooden Chamomile, but the vision remains. In my brief career as a woodcarver I learned something about wood. It is strong, tough, but flexible, moldable, and with work and patience, maybe some sweat, some pain, some bloodshed, you can create something good and strong, something that will last (yes, I know wood burns, but fire isn't as probable a threat and if there's a fire in my house chances are I'd go with it, so whatever.) Relationships, I guess, are the same. That's how this story came about. Maybe I couldn't make Chamomile out of wood, but Chamomile helped me to make something out of wood. I could give a posthumous thank you, but what's the point? She was rubber. What kind of weirdo do you think I am? =)


End file.
